


calypso

by dyosy



Category: Dragalia Lost (Video Game)
Genre: Conversations, F/M, Old Age, Tea, no beta we die like aurelius in chapter 5, or. well. he is mentioned
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-16
Updated: 2021-03-16
Packaged: 2021-03-25 02:15:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,694
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30081945
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dyosy/pseuds/dyosy
Summary: Audric comes to Cassandra's workshop to share some worries. She's all too familiar with what he seems to suffer from.
Relationships: Audric/Cassandra (Dragalia Lost)
Kudos: 7





	calypso

“Cass…?”

Audric wasn’t usually one for nicknames. There hadn’t been a day before when he’d referred to Cassandra with anything other than the full nine-letter word; not like she minded. Her name was lovely. Apparently it came from an old tale about an enchanting prophet—wasn’t that intriguing?

Still, it was nice to hear the shorter variant. From little lads who bumbled the full thing in their chubby, drool-filled cheeks, to certain casual, overfriendly residents of the Halidom—but of course, never from Aurelius.

Not like she ever expected him to say it.

_Cass._

But hearing it from Audric was endearing, too. Unfairly endearing, she thought, glancing up and down at the man standing in her doorway of her workshop. He wasn’t even _her_ Aurelius, but—fiddlesticks—he was very close. 

Audric’s brows were knitted, and one edge of his lip slightly tugged down. Typical Aureliu...er, Audric. 

Maybe he’d had a bad day. Though she supposed most of his days have been rather rotten as of late, with Audric slowly fading out of the Halidom’s collective memory. It must be hard on him, seeing even his own son forgetting his existence. He denied it, of course, said it was his burden to bear. But it wouldn’t stop Cassandra from staying by his side—or at least offer warm tea and a sympathetic ear.

Just like the old times.

“The one and only,” she cooed, twirling a finger through the silken furs of her scarf. “Need to talk?”

In lieu of an answer, Audric squinted, the faintest of wrinkles showing on his forehead. He seemed to be looking through Cassandra, rather than at her.

“Cat got your tongue?” she teased.

“No, I…” 

Audric frowned; though it was not the offended, royal frown Aurelius used to sport when lecturing Cassandra about her fashion choices, nor was it the solemn expression he usually held when being stubborn about paperwork or missions. Rather, it was an enigmatic, half-focused stare, the kind that either meant he was either thinking very hard or not thinking at all. (Cassandra hoped it was the latter; Audric, the poor chap, could use a little relaxation.)

“Well,” Cassandra said, “since you’re here, care for some cookies? I did an itty-bitty bit of baking yesterday, and it’d be a shame to let it go to waste, hmmmm?”

He blinked, as if someone had thrown salt in his eyes. “Erm. Y-yes, thank you.”

She led him to the little wooden table in her room. Laid on it was a dainty china tray piled with chocolate-chip filled delights. Frankly, she’d been thinking of eating them all by herself, but this was fine, too. One less thing for Doleur to mock her about; though, knowing what he thought of Audric, she supposed her friendly self-aware book would find something else to say.

“Would you like some tea?” Cassandra asked.

“...”

“Audric?”

“You needn’t bother—”

“I’ll take that as a yes.”

He was tense today. Too tense. Whatever invisible weight sat on his shoulders would sink him through the ground and into the deep, dark void if she didn’t loosen him up. Luckily for Audric, she had years of experience dealing with problems of this sort—with (almost) the exact same person.

She brewed the tea, keeping a close eye on her guest as the kettle boiled. Audric had seated himself in one of her oversized, plush chairs. His hands were politely folded in his lap, and he looked at the cookies blankly.

“You’re going to stare a hole in my table if you keep that up.” She wagged one finger at him.

“Cass…?” 

That nickname again. Perhaps it was Audric’s way of telling her that...no, that couldn’t be. Silly old woman. Besides, he was not her Aurelius.

 _He has his own court sorceress,_ she chastened herself. 

“What is it, dearie?” she said.

“Didn’t you use to say that about my paperwork?” His voice was quiet, reflective, like that of a child reciting their favorite passage from a fairytale. “That I’d stare a hole in it.”

She poured the billowing drink into her teapot. It was one she’d owned for quite a while, a birthday gift from her academy days. 

“Well, _she_ did, I suppose.” That was Audric’s Cassandra he was talking about, not her.

“Pardon?”

“Nothing, nothing.” Carefully, she poured tea from the teapot into two polished china teacups. They were old things, too. “Though do keep that glare away from my cookies, you hear? You’ll scare them.”

“Apologies.” He absentmindedly nodded towards the plate of chocolatey delights.

Cassandra blinked. “I’m just kidding, dearie.” She held the teacups by their handles and sauntered over to the table. The scent of the tea and its calming warmth slowly filled the air.

“A jape…? Oh—right.”

She chuckled, amused, as she set the teacups down on the table’s wooden surface. The table was antique as well, she remembered. Cassandra supposed this room was full of old stuff, she and Audric included.

“Did you think you’d actually scare the cookies?”

“Erm, well, no?” 

He paused, a light blush brushing across his face. 

“...Sort of?”

It was so rare to see him flustered, no matter how slightly. How she wanted to reach out, give him a wee pinch. A teasing pat on the shoulder.

Maybe even a gentle kiss. Just on the cheek, or the forehead.

“So, what did you want to talk to me about?” she settled for.

Audric shifted in his seat. His gaze flitted to the cookies, then to the steaming cup of tea before him, then locked onto Cassandra’s.

“...It’s about the chains of causality.” He tapped a finger against the tabletop. “Or, rather, my lack of connection to them.”

_Ah._

Ever since Audric was severed from the chain of causality, he had become a sort of faceless being; as he was no longer tied down to any world, he faded much faster from people’s memories. 

(Cassandra remembered him, of course; how could she not?)

There were ways to reconnect a man to the chain, but Audric had insisted he remain detached—as penance for his supposed sins, or whatever other stubborn reasons he may have. 

Perhaps he had changed his mind. At least, Cassandra hoped so. For to be forgotten, like a fading specter—what a miserable existence that would be! 

Audric may not be _her_ Aurelius, but he was still _an_ Aurelius, which was more than enough reason for her to at least _care_ about his well being. Even if she couldn’t love him.

“Have some questions, do you?” She took a cautious sip of her tea. The heat snapped against her tongue, but she hardly minded. “Just so you know, it _is_ still possible to reconnect—”

“No,” Audric muttered.

“...Sorry?”

“Do not fix it. I don’t seek to leave memories of myself in this world.”

She sighed. Stubborn as ever, she supposed.

“Then why ask?” Cassandra said.

The decades-old clock on her wall ticked to mark each passing second of silence.

_Tick._

_Tick._

_Tick._

“...Are there... _other_ effects?” 

Audric whispered these words quietly, fearfully, as if revealing a phobia. 

“Other effects?” Cassandra echoed. “Whatever do you mean?”

“Cass…?”

That nickname again; Cassandra hastily bit into a cookie.

“Yes, Audric?”

His hands had returned to his lap. “People will forget me, no?”

“Indeed they will,” she replied. “Frankly, I don’t see why you’re alright with—”

“But will _I_ forget others?”

The room seemed to shrink as the sentence left his mouth. Suddenly the mottled-paged books on the creaky shelves appeared to loom above them, staring. Wondering.

Once again, the aged clock ticked.

_Tick._

_Tick._

_Tick._

“Could you repeat that, dear?” She’d set her teacup down along with her cookie, and now leaned forward, intending to listen more closely.

“I will be nameless to others—I have accepted that—” 

Rarely did words spill forth from Audric in such a hurried manner.

“But will they, too—these other people—will I forget them?” 

His gaze shifted left, right, up to the ceiling with the peeling paint, down to the floorboards, onto the faded varnish of the table. 

“Will they fade from my memory—just as I fade from theirs?”

_Tick._

_Tick._

_Tick._

_Tick—_

“Why do you ask?” Cassandra replied.

There was a large, lanky cobweb just above the door frame behind Audric, she noticed. She would have to dust that off later.

“I have been rather...forgetful of late,” he muttered. The wrinkles in his forehead were even more pronounced now—it was a wonder that Cassandra’s own Aurelius hardly had any, even in old age. “Names, faces...even locations…!”

“Do tell.”

“Just the other day, I was going to talk to Euden—my own son—but when I tried to ask others where he was, I couldn’t recall his name. Then when I finally did remember—I had forgotten the place we were to meet at.” 

His fingers drummed against the chair’s armrest. 

“And some memories of my time before I came here—I’ve had trouble recounting them. It is...concerning. I believe it has to do with Chronos’ time sorcery, or a sickness caused by travelling through worlds.”

Cassandra leaned back into her chair, sinking into the cushions. Thinking.

Forgetfulness, eh?

“And my sword—” he added, quietly, “—I keep misplacing my sword…”

Humming nonchalantly, Cassandra picked up her teacup. A near-unnoticeable chip had formed at the base of the handle—now when did that get there?

“So you’ve been forgetting things?” 

“Indeed.” Audric’s eyes had turned downcast. “I suspect that not only am I fading from this world’s memori—”

Cassandra chuckled.

Eyebrows raised, Audric looked up. 

“What’s so funny?”

 _Everything_ , she was tempted to reply. The antiquated tea set with chipped teacups, the cobweb on the door, the sturdy beast of a table that had been with her through countless magic experiments. The decades-old tomes that lined the shelves, the edges of their pages spotted with shades of fading ochre. Her aching joints beneath smooth skin. 

Him.

It was one grand joke, wasn’t it? The march of time, and the deterioration that comes with it. She had hoped Audric would be spared from these difficulties. But she supposed he was just like her—youthful on the outside, fading on the inside.

“There’s—” she chortled, “—there’s a term for that sort of condition, you know.”

“Is that so?”

“Yes, yes!” She nodded, trying to keep the straightest poker face she could muster.

“I see.” As if she had confirmed the death of his newborn, Audric nodded gravely in return. “What is this malady known as?”

Cassandra gently blew on her tea.

“Senility.” She took a sip. “Also known as old age.”

First Audric’s lips parted just a bit; if Cassandra were to tilt her head further in his direction, she was certain she would hear the metallic grinding of the gears turning in his head. Then he pouted. It was a small, almost childlike pout, like that of someone who had bit into a lemon.

“You think me _senile?_ ” He crossed his arms. This was funny, too. “I don’t believe—”

“How old are you, again?”

“...”

“It’s normal, Audric.”

“But surely—” He’d uncrossed his arms, and his fingers now sheepishly fidgeted on the table. “When Chronos reversed time during my battle with him, my body became...youthful once more, did it not?”

The tea was beginning to cool. Cassandra straightened in her chair.

“Well, dearie, maybe he missed a few spots when he did his time travel hocus-pocus.”

“...Is that even possible?”

Audric looked down at his hands, as if they were foreign attachments.

“To look young, but on the inside…” he muttered.

_Old. Fading. Surfaces, chipping. Cobwebs hanging from the walls._

“I forget things all the time, dearie.” She hated admitting it.

He met her gaze. “But you remember me.”

Cassandra laughed, a short titter that shook her shoulders. Ilia, she hoped that didn’t break a rib.

“Why wouldn’t I?”

At that, Audric slumped his head. 

Hands on the table, eyes grave—it was just like the old days, when he’d presided over tactics meetings, and she’d peer from him across the table, and at all the maps and markings.

 _You’ll stare a hole in those,_ she used to say.

The phrase seemed familiar. Has someone said that recently?

 _Tick, tick, tick,_ went the wall clock; Cassandra remembered the darn thing was an hour off. She’d meant to buy a new one a few months ago, didn’t she?

_Tick._

_Tick._

“I’m somewhat relieved, I must admit.” Audric finally replied. “I thought it was magic, or a disease, since the rest of me feels...fine.” He gingerly picked up a cookie. “But old age...makes more sense.”

“Happens to all of us,” Cassandra said. “Were you worried you’d forget something important?”

“...Yes.”

Twiddling the cookie in one hand, he sighed gently. “I do not wish for the memory of those who sacrificed their lives to disappear. And yet…”

“Go on, dearie, I’m listening.”

“...”

“Audric?”

“...Cass…?”

“What is it?”

He huffed. “C...Cass…?”

Only now, seeing his knitted brow and his confused, almost embarrassed frown, did Cassandra realize. From the moment he’d shown up at her workshop, every utterance of her name had been a question—

A small part inside her seemed to wrinkle at the realization. He’d forgotten—of all the things to forget—he was not _her_ Aurelius, but—

“Andra.” she said.

His eyes widened. “Sorry?”

“Cass-andra. Cassandra.” She pronounced it slowly, carefully. “My name’s Cassandra.”

“Cassandra,” he repeated. Nodded to himself thoughtfully, before sheepishly meeting her gaze once more. 

“Cassandra. Cassandra. I—my apologies, I didn’t—”

“But just Cass is fine, dearie!” she cut in, beaming teasingly. “It’s _adorable._ ”

“...It is informal.” A bow of the head. “I deeply apologize if—”

“Such a stuffy old man you are!” She bit into a cookie. “Do you need a back massage for those aching joints, peepaw Audric?”

“ _Peepaw_ —”

He tried to frown, but a half-laugh of a wheeze escaped him. Audric’s laugh was much like that of her Aurelius—it came out slowly, shyly, like those slinking nocturnal dragons that ventured out of their caves so very rarely, before bursting into chuckles, sunshine in the form of laughter. 

And here it came, that laugh—bright, staccatoed. An unpatterned series of chortles, sincere. He’d choke on his cookie if he kept it up.

Oh, but this man hardly smiled nowadays, didn’t he?

“Cassandra,” he managed, wheezing. “Do—do _not_ call me that.”

“Aw, I thought you liked it, peepaw.” Truth be told, she didn’t expect him to laugh at the word. “Would ‘grandpappy’ suit your tastes more?”

“Hah, I’m not _that_ old.” 

He grinned. 

She hadn’t seen that grin for years. Decades, even.

The clock ticked on. Cassandra remembered that she _had_ bought a new one, two weeks ago. Where did she place it again…?

_Tick, tock._

“So.” Her cup was halfway finished.

“Yes?” He was at ease now. His own cup was hardly touched, but Aurelius had always been a slow drinker.

“What were we talking about, again?”

Audric picked up a cookie. 

“...I don’t recall.”

“Well, you seem happy, so I suppose it was something good.”

“Perhaps so.” He bit into the snack and lit up into a bigger smile. “Mm—these are just as delicious as I remember.”

There was a cobweb on the top of the doorframe; Cassandra made a mental note to tidy up later. A dusty workshop just wouldn’t do!

“They’re a bit stale,” she said.

“Still—mmph—extraordinary. Even better than my wife used to make them, I’d say.”

“That’s a high compliment. And don’t chew with your mouth full.”

Right, her clock had been an hour off, hadn’t it? She should really buy a new one later.

“Heh, alrightmpgh.” Audric was cheeky today, wasn’t he? Their conversation certainly put him at ease.

...What _had_ they been talking about? Something about the chains of causality. He’d told her not to fix them, as usual. Stubborn, just like her Aurelius.

They were getting old.

“Anyway, dearie, I’m glad we could chat.” The tea was cold, but she didn’t mind.

He sank into his chair, his expression serene. The half-eaten cookie remained grasped in his fingers.

“I’m glad we could chat too, Calypso.”

**Author's Note:**

> i hope you enjoyed reading about the Elderly


End file.
